Memoirs of a former Super Mom wannabe

It starts at close to the same time every day, especially during those long winter months when the weather forces my three active boys inside for long periods of time. Two-thirty pm. Even typing the time gives me the shivers.  It’s the reckoning hour when the grumpies set in, boredom works his wiles and the kids get plain tired of looking at the same little faces and the same four walls. 

In that window of empty time where the blissful land of naps used to reign, my day has gotten into the pattern of quickly going from smooth sailing in the glassy waters of domestic bliss to fighting our way through gale-force winds in the choppy waters of  domestic unrest. (Not enough nautical metaphors for you? I could do some more- batten down the hatches, lower the sails, walk the plank.... you get the idea, right?)

Pirate Maddie- Most feared baby pirate of the South Bleeker Sea!

It usually starts when Johnny pulls the big brother card on something, anything really, giving Brandon a bad case of the middle child “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha” syndrome. Then, for good measure, Thomas jumps into the frey thinking he gets what he wants just cause he's four (imagine four chubby fingers waving in your face).

Practicing our "scared faces" before Tower of Terror

 Every day I wait and listen, hoping that the talk that we’d had hundreds of times before  had sunk in and they’d find a way to sidestep the disagreement. But just as I let my hopes get high enough to crash, the voices crescendo, tempers flare and I sigh, pulling on my captain's hat (I imagine that it has an awesome giant feather, but that’s just me) to once again calm the crew. 

The Bleeker Crew

 "Guys, what is going on in here?” the script usually goes. They look at me for one quiet moment and then all start talking at once. This brother did this, and that brother did that and it was his fault, not mine.... on and on and on.

 I interrupt and ask them the same question I ask every day:

 “Hey, who’s in charge here?” 

There's always that moment of guilty eyes and twisted lips as they all utter in a disappointed unison- "You are.”

In that moment I should feel victorious! 

“That's right kids- I am MOM! I AM in charge. I am captain of this vessel, hardy har har!” But usually as the words sink in, a heavy mantel of responsibility settles on me and what I really think is:

 "Oh, crud. I'M in charge…”

I don't remember why I have this picture  

That’s when I wish I could trade in my worn feathered captain’s hat for a super-mom cape. I’d drape that baby around my neck and have the power to fly through all the ‘difficult phases’, see through walls of temper-tantrums and and leap tall buildings of homework, late nights and not listening the first time, in a single bound. Then I’d put my hands on my very shapely hips (this is MY fantasy remember) and know that I could do it ALL single handedly! 

I’ve searched the internet. That product does not exist.

I tried to make one in my basement but it turned out to be more of a fashion statement than a wearable garment. It’s heavy and lonely and not as flattering as you would think. When it hangs limply off my shoulders I realize- I’m such a poser.

Doing homework with Johnny- can't you just FEEL my excitement? 

I’m not ‘super mom’. 

 I’ll never have a giant SM plastered on my rippled abs (MY fantasy, MINE) but maybe I don’t have to be perfect to be a good mom. I make mistakes- a lot of mistakes, so many mistakes I couldn’t keep track of them if I tried. BUT I do have this nagging desire like most moms I know, to do better, a desire and crazy effort to BE better. I think that is what makes me and so many other moms kinda “super”. Not a cape or special abilities. The striving makes us great.  

Sometimes, I forget this. Sometimes, I still try to wear that my homemade cape, clunky and awkward, but thankfully I usually catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror before walking out the door for the day. I take a good, long look at the woman staring back. 

Me as Wolverine- not a great look

She’s not super or perfect- just normal and trying every day to do better than she did on the one before. Then with a sigh I lift that cape off, untying it reluctantly from around my throat. I’ll save it for another day, here on Bleeker Street.

 After all, a grown woman probably should not be wearing a cape.

Wearing a baby is way more fun than a cape any way

Boys' Club

In October 2010 the plush Garrick Club, a "gentlemen only" establishment on London's West End, was forced by Britain's Equality Act to admit women for the first time in 179 years. Garrick's fall marked the final end of the "Men Only" clubs that litter much of my favorite genres of literature. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would be so aghast! Where would they meet to drink 'things' and talk about 'stuff' away from the prying ears of women?

July 5th, 2011-- The Bleeker family, formerly a "Boy's ONLY" establishment for the past 6 1/2 years, admitted their first female member, Madeline Bleeker, thus ending the era of the Bleeker Boys and ushering in the the era of The Bleeker Kids. That transition went something like this:

The Bleeker Boys at the Taste of Chicago 2011

On the evening of Friday, July 1st I started having contractions about two and a half minutes apart. They were so consistent Joe started packing bags while I tried to rest between contractions so I could have enough energy for what we thought would be a night of labor and delivery but as Joe walked down the stairs to say he was ready to go the contractions slowed down to a slow and steady pace of one every ten to twelve minutes. I decided we'd just go to bed and see what happened in the morning. The next day we decided to go to the Taste thinking that perhaps the walking would bring on more contractions and that we'd be able to get our minds off of the impending labor. 

At the Taste of Chicago with my boys-- still having contractions!

We had a great time going downtown as we always do on the Fourth of July weekend and I was so glad we could fit this in before the baby was born. It was SO hot and we didn't stay long but my contractions stayed about 10 minutes apart. They didn't stop but they also didn't get closer together and Joe's favorite question was- "Are these labor contractions?"

Pregnant on my b-day

The next day, July 3rd, was my 31st birthday. Joe and the boys woke me with breakfast in bed and presents. Though I'd been dealing with contractions for 48 hours this was a wonderful birthday full of family time, yummy food and as much relaxation as was possible given the situation. 

I slept restlessly that night but still no change in my contractions. We'd decided that if I didn't progress any more that day I' take castor oil that night to hopefully push labor along just like when I'd been pregnant with Thomas. So after going to the Antioch 4th of July parade, we invited my parents over for dinner and to spend the night so if day three of labor turned into delivery they would be there so we could leave. They took the boys to the fireworks while I chugged some castor oil and waited for baby to make him/herself known.

4th of July Parade.... yup- still having contractions!

Baby did not come.

July 5th- Contractions were getting stronger and I was getting very tired. I had an appointment with my midwife to get an ultrasound and double check on the baby's weight, position and overall health to see if baby was healthy enough to stay in a little longer. We did not get to the ultrasound. After being checked by my midwife we got the news that I was, in fact, in some sort of labor and was at 4 1/2 cm. She suggested I go over to the hospital, let my membranes get ruptured and then walk around for a little bit to get things moving along. I agreed and instantly felt a strange mixture of both relief and nervousness- perhaps a premonition of what was to come in the next few hours. 

I labored on my own for three hours and still did not progress despite having regular contractions that were just two minutes apart. I was very frustrated. It had been days of start/stop labor and nagging contractions and I was starting to feel that the baby would just hang out in-utero forever. So when the OB suggested that I use a little pitocin and said "I'm sure you'll go very fast and be done soon" I think the only words I heard were "fast" and "done", so I said yes. 

I'd done pitocin before with Johnny's labor and during that labor I hadn't used any pain meds so I thought that I could do it again. Without going into too much detail let me just say- I soon regretted this decision. 

I labored for three more hours with increasing amounts of pitocin. The only way I could get my contractions to be productive was to stand and rock back and forth. If I sat in a chair or on a birthing ball they would slow down to my previous pace and the nurse would come in to turn up the pitocin- again. Finally after two emotional breakdowns, some incredibly intense pain, a broken tailbone and a lot of support from Joe (both literally and figuratively) I gave birth to a very posterior baby.... girl! 

My sweet Maddie
(and me- so glad to be done with that four day labor and to be holding my baby)

 My eyes were closed when she was born and all I remember hearing was Joe saying- "It's a ... girl! We've got a girl!" It took me several minutes to understand what he was saying. Looking down into my arms I got my first look at my little girl, so very shocked that all my premonitions of a boy had been wrong.  We named her Madeline Dorothy Bleeker and she was 8lbs 3oz and 20 1/2 inches.

The presents Johnny, Brandon and Thomas brought as offerings to their baby sister.
I know- you all wish you got Sprees when you were born... it's ok, you can be jealous. 

Johnny and Brandon were estatic! They'd wanted a girl through my whole pregnancy. Johnny prayed every night that he'd get a little sister always explaining, "Mommy, we have enough boys, we need some girls." Thomas was a little less excited. When I told him he'd had a sister he responded by saying, "No, she's not a girl, she's a boy and her name is Thomas." He wore his Thomas the Train overalls that day in her(his?) honor.

The balloons they picked out for Madeline.
 Notice that Thomas' is blue- it said "It's a BOY!" funny kid!

Three big brothers that love their baby sister.
Thomas now calls her "My Precious Baby"

So Maddie has been with us for almost two months now. She is tiny, sweet, snuggly and good spirited. She puts up with her overly loving big brothers and has started to smile and laugh. She has some definite likes and dislikes. She loves being held and swaddled, she loves her sound machine and does not mind sleeping in a closet or during the construction of a two story room addition. She likes being whistled at and listening to her mommy play guitar. She likes to burrow her head into the crook of your arm to sleep and giggles out loud when she dreams. Her brothers make her laugh. She does not like being alone or being cold. She HATES her car seat and will not take any type of pacifier. She has a very sensitive gag reflex and can shoot poop farther than should be humanly possible. 

Loves a good swaddle

Is it bad I think that her crying face is cute? 

People ask me if I'm happy to have finally gotten my girl and I've tried to consider this question carefully. I never went into any of my pregnancies hoping for a certain gender. I always knew that the little person sent to our family was the child that needed us and that we needed him/her so beyond that, gender never really mattered to me.  I adore my little boys and I've LOVED being a mom of only boys for the past six years. I think I learned more in those six years of my life than I have in the other 24 1/2 combined (and that includes the years that I learned to speak, read and do math so that's a lot of learning).

My kids!

 But I AM happy to welcome Madeline Dorothy-  so to answer that burning question, I think it's not just because she's a girl that I'm so happy but because she is such a special little person that adds a whole new dynamic to our home. Through her our boys have learned so much about service, about putting their wants behind someone else's needs and the meaning of unconditional love and though my pregnancy was so difficult and my labor so epic I would do it a million times over if it meant bringing this girl into our lives. 

Mommy and Madeline - 4 days old.

So perhaps the changes in our family do not have the same social influence as the fall of the exclusive Garrick's Club but Madeline's birth has had a great influence on our lives and our hearts. And just like the romanticized idea of the British Gentleman's Club has melted away so has the fear that I wouldn't know how to be a mom to a girl, even though sometimes I still call her Thomas in the middle of the night and I occasionally mix up the pronouns she/he when I talk about her and how a few times I've asked her, "How's my little boy?"

I think I'm getting the hang of things-- and I might even be starting to like the color pink... or maybe that's just the hormones speaking. All I know is that even though she hasn't been around long, I can't imagine our family without her. I smile when I see her, even if it's one, or two, or three am and I am so grateful she was sent to us, here on Bleeker Street.

Our sweet Maddie girl

Flowers For Mommy

Every spring a battle is waged on Bleeker Street. Joe dons his lawn care clothes and old grass stained gym shoes as his armor and then heads out to the local lawn care store to pick out the weapons he will use against his age old foe- the dandelion.

A stink'n dandelion!

Gardenguides.com defines a dandelion as: A perennial weed with a stout taproot. The leaves are invasive, growing outward pushing down the surrounding vegetation, such as lawn grass, killing them due to lack of sunlight. Or in other words- a great big giant pest!

To make matters worse Joe is pretty allergic to the leaves that sprout at the base of the mature dandelion plant and though I've never tested it I'm guessing Brandon would have the same allergy considering how sensitive his skin is to any irritant. Thus our dedication to the systematic eradication of any and all dandelions from our yard starting in early spring and continuing through early fall. 

Note the lack of dandelions....

Before becoming a home owner I was pretty ambivalent about these yellow flowering weeds. Yellow is my favorite color so they were not much of an eye sore and we lived in a town house so I didn't have to worry about the negative effects of weeds but if someone said that they were going to obliterate a field of them I'd shrug and step aside. Let's just say if the war against dandelions was a World War -- I'd be Switzerland. 

Then last year just before one of Brandon and Johnny's tee-ball games we got to the park early. It had been raining all week and that combined with warm weather had encouraged those pesky little flowers to bloom like crazy. The outfield was covered in a bright blanket of dandelion flowers. 

an approximation of what the outfield looked like

Johnny and Brandon were mesmerized. The glow of the flowers called to them and they wanted to pick every single one and bring it to me. They would run out into the field and pick a couple and then hustle back to where I was sitting and toss them on my lap. It was a shower of flowers.

Brandon was beside himself with joy. He looked around in his excitement and cried, "Look at ALL these flowers for mommy!!" In that moment they might as well have been roses and every one created just for me.

I soon found that dandelions are perhaps my favorite flower in the whole world! It's not like I want a yard full of them but they are intriguing little plants. Not only are they yellow, cheerful and prolific they can also be an art project, an activity and a science lesson all wrapped into one. I never had to chastise the kids for picking too many or in the wrong way. They could yank them out of just about any patch of grass and be thanked for it. I could just let them explore and experiment to their hearts content. It was heavenly.

This spring when the dandelions bloomed I let my boys roam free. Walks that took minutes soon took hours as they picked and picked to their hearts content and my heart never felt so content as seeing them collect their special treasures. They would bring them to me by the handful- some as offerings of love, some to decorate my clothes and hair and others to make into dandelion necklaces and crowns. It didn't take long to understand that when picked with love and a little bit of imagination dandelions have a magical quality that can turn little boys into kings and princes and mommies into fairy queens. 

One day, sooner than I realize, I know my boys will pull on their own yard shoes, make the trip to Home Depot and wage the war against dandelions in the yards of their own houses. I know one day they will see these flowers as weeds and not treasures. I know that one day they will buy me yellow roses, or lilies or carnations for mother's day and maybe even necklaces made of gold or silver, or pearls paid for with their hard earned money. But even if I live to be a hundred and one I know that I will never look at a dandelion again without feeling like a queen or without remembering that once three little boys thought that every single one was made just for me. I will never look at a dandelion without knowing that I am loved.  

Happy Mother's Day 2011!

My house is CLEAN!

"Oh frabjous day callooh callay"- my house is clean! Not that I belonged on "Hoarders, Buried Alive" but I'd always been of the belief that cleaning should be on the bottom of my stay-at-home mom list of duties putting playing with my kids, doing fun projects, spending time with friends and going on fun field trips way above "spotless house."

NOT my house

My official philosophy in those early new mom days went something like this: I chose to stay home to spend time with my kids not to do chores so if I have dishes, laundry or other  tidying up I can do it while baby is sleeping.

What a lovely, balanced way of thinking right? Yeah, well that worked with one baby, kinda worked with two but as number three, Mr. Thomas, started to get into things and the amount of laundry I had to wash each week kept growing exponentially I could not keep up during the few moments of quiet time I eeked out of our days. As a result I started to get stressed out about the state of my house.

Then one day a friend came over to my 'clean underneath the mess' house after I'd tidied up in preparation. She took one look around and said (without meaning any offense) - "Wow, your house looks so lived in. Most houses you can't even tell the people have kids but not yours." I think this was intended to be a complement.

Toys, toys and more toys

sleeping on the floor just for the fun of it

the aftermath of making bread with the boys

blanket party

 Ha, ha- this was not what I wanted to hear. It was like thinking you'd lost weight after a baby and are looking good only to have someone ask when you were due (um, four months ago). It really made me look around at my house and wonder how other people saw it and how this reflected on me. I'm sad to say that after that day I was embarrassed to have friends over. I felt like I could never ever live up to the standards that everyone else had for their homes but I still wasn't willing to dedicate my whole day to keeping my house spotless- I knew that I'd be miserable and so would my kids. If I did have friends over I would spend my time looking around wondering if they noticed the confiscated toys piled on the top of the fridge or the basket of unsorted mail by the front door. I know, I know- I shouldn't care but I did and I don't think I realized how much it effected me until recently.Well fast forward nine or so months. I'm six months pregnant and my house is on the market and my it is SO clean.

It took two months of organizing, cleaning and putting at least half of our house in a storage unit to get us here not to mention a whole butt-load of STRESS to get this place ready to sell.  

What I LOVE about having a clean house:

1. The boys have learned how to help out and clean up after themselves so well

2. It feels more peaceful in our house and I don't walk in the door and feel bummed with all the work that I still need to do. 

3. I can find stuff

4. If we need to show the house, it takes 20-30 minutes of tidying, vacuuming and wiping down to have the house ready. It's not super frantic or overwhelming- it all just falls into place.

5. When people come over or come to see the house I'm not constantly apologizing for the mess.

6. I get satisfaction from the evidence of all my hard work and feel like a real homemaker for the first time in my six years of being a SAHM.

What is still really hard for me about having a clean house:

1. I spend a lot of my "spare time" cleaning- it's an uphill battle and my home is the quintessential example of the Chaos Theory

2. Johnny and Brandon are always asking me why I'm so busy and I don't have as much time to play as I did before.

3. With nearly zero minutes of free time for myself during the day I find that when I do sit down- I instantly fall asleep (I'm sure being pregnant has something to do with this too).

4. I miss reading, singing, playing guitar, writing, chatting with my friends, baking alone or with the kids, sewing and doing long term projects. 

5.  And the catch that even Alanis Morrisette would find Ironic- now that the house is clean I don't have people over any more than I did when it was messy cause now I worry about how to KEEP it clean. 

I'm not saying that moms with clean houses don't spend time with their kids- I know lots of great moms that are amazing at doing it all, I'm just saying that it is so far from being one of my talents you'd need a telescope to be able to see it. I know that keeping a house ready to show is like tidiness on crack so I'm just hoping when (if ever) we move I'll be able to keep some of these good habits I've acquired while finding the balance with being the kind of mom I want to be -- especially when new baby comes in a few months. 

At least I've learned through all this that whatever compromise I come to with myself the pay off for all the work and constant attention is not what other people might think but how it makes ME feel and how in some little way I can contribute to making life a little more peaceful for our family within these four walls.  As I sit writing this in my clean house (hee, hee- still makes me smile) I try to remember  the wisdom expressed in one of my favorite poems and hope I can apply it to our home, here on Bleeker  Street. 

Song for a Fifth Child
By Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo.
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep

Making New Friends

We have a new friend on Bleeker Street- his (?) name is Crayfishy. Joe found him Saturday morning while he was laying down some new grass seed and doing some other outside chores that the extended winter Chicago loves to torture us with had kept him from. I'd been out shopping with the boys to give him some time to work without little hands getting in the way. When I returned home Joe ran to the car and tapped on my window while I was still trying to pull into the garage. Assuming it was an emergency I rolled it down only to have an old McDonalds cup with a PO'ed crayfish inside shoved into my face.

This stinker was tiny but had a huge Napoleon complex. He was not happy to be captured and I know that behind those beady eyes he was plotting ways to chop off our fingers or at least pinch a couple of tears out of us. The boys were ecstatic and as creepy as the crustacean was I was pretty fascinated too. Of course no one had the guts to touch the angry French monarch but we quickly devised a plan on how to get our new little friend back to his home. 

So we put on our boots and headed out to the the path by our house where the swamp that Crayfishy (as he was so creatively named) must have traveled from. It was a short walk, maybe ten minutes from our front door but the boys went through all five stages of grief on the way there just contemplating releasing their new friend into the wild. 

Denial 

"Mommy it's ok, we can take Crayfishy home, I'll miss him but he should be in nature."

Anger 

"Mommy, why do we have to take him back? I love him, he loves me. This is not fair!"

 Bargaining

"Mommy, we could take Crayfishy home for just a little while longer. We could look up what he eats on the internet."

Depression

"MOMMY NO!!! (sob, sob) He is my friend! I will miss him SO much!"

Acceptance 

"Mommy, that was so much fun. I'm glad he's home now. Maybe he'll visit us again soon."

We've been talking about Crayfishy for the past three days. Johnny woke up in the middle of the night last night, crawled into my bed and asked if I thought his friend was still okay. It may have just been a ploy to get out of bed but as we talked it made me think- it took less than half an hour for those little guys to turn an ugly, ill tempered creature into a best friend.  

As always my boys taught me a lesson they didn't even know they were teaching. If they could transform a creature from the swamp of English Meadows into a friend - then maybe I should work on being a better friend to those around me. Maybe the people that seem crusty, grumpy or just different than us are the ones that need a new or better friend the most. Maybe there are people out there that I've never considered or have neglected that could end up being just the kind of friend three little boys fell in love with one Saturday morning, here on Bleeker Street.